


Brother Bear

by Kadysn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Caring Sam, Family Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 18:58:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kadysn/pseuds/Kadysn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Dean’s sick and Sam steps in to take care of him, attitude and all. It’s what the brothers do, right? Set during season 8 in the "Batcave."</p><p>a/n: Written for Kira who’s been having some rough times. I hope this helps, hon. *hugs*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brother Bear

 

Sam could hear Dean as he made his way through the large central room of the _Batcave_ ; his brother’s hacking cough and chest rattle clearly audible from several feel away. Sam stood at the stove in the kitchen, heating water for a cup of herbal tea he surmised he’d have trouble forcing down Dean’s throat, but he knew from experience that it was one of the few things capable of loosening his irascible brother’s congested chest.

It wasn’t out of the norm for Dean to be in a pissy mood; when he was sick he was like a bear with his paw caught in a trap. Sam knew, and prepared, he girded himself for Dean’s bitchy mood as he turned and watched Dean nearly stumble into the room.

Unafraid to poke the bear, Sam smiled and held out the mug of tea. “Mornin’, sunshine.”

Even with a gravelly voice, made worse by his scratchy throat and congested sinuses, Dean managed to snarl out, “Up yours, bitch.”

Unperturbed, Sam merely shrugged. “Love you too, dude. Have some tea.”

Dean pushed past Sam, going directly for the coffee pot - which he found empty. “Where’s my fucking coffee?”

“I didn’t make any. Tea’s better for you.” Sam joined his brother at the counter. Lowering his voice to a more soothing tone, Sam urged, “C’mon, Dean, you know the tea will help. Why do you fight it, every single time?”

“I hate that shit.”

“I know, but you need it anyway.” Sam conveniently forgot about all the times he’d been sick and Dean’d had to force meds and tea down him. That was different. This was Dean.

His eyes bruised and red, Dean glared up at Sam for a long minute then, growling, acquiesced. Grimacing, he took a sip of tea, then wrapped his hands around the mug and seated himself at the table.

Sam studied his brother silently. He hated seeing Dean as ill as he was. Normally having a strong constitution, Dean didn’t often get sick, but life for them in the past months hadn’t been easy and Dean had allowed himself to get worn down. Sam knew a lot of it was his fault. He wasn’t exactly in top form himself. The first trial took a lot out of him and Dean had been stubborn about taking care of him.

Sam could only imagine what the second trial would be, and how it would affect him. In the meantime, Dean was worse off than he was, so it was up to him to take care of his big brother while he still could.

 

wWw

 

As the day progressed, Dean’s congestion steadily worsened and his voice got so raspy it hurt to speak, so he stopped. Sam watched all this and he worried. All the injuries they had both suffered over the years, many of them more serious than this, and yet he ached to be able to find some way to take it upon himself so Dean could feel better and get back to full health.

Dean fell asleep in an old chair he’d unearthed from the bowels of the bunker and situated it in a corner of the study/Sam’s self-proclaimed office. Sam entered the room and, finding his brother conked out, his head bent to the side in what Sam figured was an uncomfortable angle, he fetched the pillow off Dean’s bed and placed it around his brother’s head and neck to relieve the strain, then covered Dean’s legs with a light blanket. He knew Dean ought to be in bed, but Sam didn’t have the heart to disturb him when he needed the sleep. Sam spent much of the previous night awake, hearing Dean’s wracking coughs.

It didn’t even cross Sam’s mind that he needed rest also. Instead, he searched the internet for home remedies because he wasn’t about to leave Dean alone to go on a supply run. It’s not that he couldn’t. He just didn’t want to.

A little over three hours later, Dean found him in the kitchen, standing over the stove. With his laryngitis still in full effect, Dean moved to stand beside Sam, and when Sam looked back at him, Dean gave him a silent _What are you doing?_ shrug.

“I Googled for home remedies. We have all the ingredients already. I figured we’d give them a try to see if they work before we go on another supply run.”

Dean pointed at the contents of the pot that was simmering then looked back up at Sam questioningly.

“Yeah. I didn’t think you’d be able to smell it.” Sam smiled softly as he stirred the pot, adding, “This is just honey and lemon juice, but if it doesn’t work, I have some other things for you to try.”

Dean shrugged half-heartedly then went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. When Sam asked, “Want some aspirin?” Dean nodded then slumped into a chair and watched as Sam fetched the pills, even as another bout of grating, raspy coughing hit him. Clutching his hands to his chest, Dean struggled for breath. When the attack ended, he accepted the two white pills Sam dropped onto his palm and swallowed them.

Sam watched then, placing a soothing hand on Dean’s shoulder, said, “Just sit. Let’s try something else.” Within minutes, he sat a steaming pot in front of Dean, then wrapping a towel over his brother’s head, explained, “Its cloves steeped in water. Keep your head covered and hang it over the pot. Breathe it in.”

Without a sound, or a bitchface even, Dean complied. Sam knew his brother had to be miserable to accept all this worry and attention without fighting it.

 

By the time the clove water cooled down and the steam was gone, Sam could clearly see how exhausted Dean was. After clearing things away, Sam walked Dean back to bed and made sure he was comfortable before leaving him to rest.

wWw

As the days passed, Dean’s health began to improve, even as his mood didn’t. As soon as his voice returned, he resumed bitching at Sam about not being a pussy, not needing his brother to hover over him. Slapping at Sam, he demanded, “Get off me, dude. I can take care of myself.”

Sam complied, not saying a word, only stepping back with his hands up, watching  Dean shove past him as he headed for the kitchen. Just as Dean crossed through the doorway, Sam commented, “No coffee. It’s bad for you when you have a cold.”

Dean replied in a one handed salute over his shoulder before reaching into a cabinet for the coffee.

Sam hovered nearby a couple hours later when Dean’s coughing returned in full force. “I told you—“

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean growled through his hacking.

“Fine,” Sam snapped back. “You’re on your own.” Turning around, he stomped out of the room, leaving his stubborn ass of a brother to his misery.

wWw

To clear his head and cool his temper, Sam changed into a pair of sweats and a heavy t-shirt and went for a run. All along his route, he grumbled and swore about asshole brothers and their know-it-all attitude, but by the time he returned to the bunker, sweaty and breathing heavily, his mood had calmed. He took time to shower and change clothes before searching for Dean.

Dean was sitting at the lighted map table in the war room, with Sam’s laptop open before him. At Sam’s approach, Dean glanced up at him. “Where you been?”

“Running,” Sam replied as he pulled out a chair across from Dean and sat.

Dean studied him for a moment before asking, “You felt up for that? The first trial—“

“I’m fine, Dean. You’re the one who’s been sick.” Sam leaned back in his chair, giving Dean his own long study. “How are you feeling?”

Shrugging, Dean admitted, “Throat’s still scratchy, but nothing I can’t handle.” He sighed then looked back at the computer screen in front of him. “Sammy—“

Sam waited for his brother to speak, his arms crossed over his chest.

Dean glanced up and looked into Sam’s eyes. Taking a deep breath, he admitted, “I know I’ve been grouchy lately.”

“Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed,” Sam didn’t bother hiding the snark in his voice. “What gave you that idea?”

“Bitch,” Dean’s full lips parted in a small grin. “I’m trying to apologize here. Don’t spoil the moment.”

It had been a long time since Dean called him ‘bitch,” and Sam had missed it. Long habit made his reply of “Jerk” instantaneous, and when he saw the answering smirk cross Dean’s face, Sam grinned back. With Dean’s returning good mood, Sam was relieved. His brother was on the mend – and maybe now they could continue their research into what the next trial would be.

Sam only hoped the tables wouldn’t end up turning and it would be Dean’s turn to take care of him.

_fin_

 

 

 

 


End file.
